Meet Me Down the River Road
by sailormade
Summary: With a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, you glance down at the photo on your phone again. It's a blurry selfie of Lisa and Clay at Lisa's OCS graduation. They're pressed cheek to cheek, grinning ear to ear, and your heart aches with such overwhelming love and uncertainty and adoration and grief that it causes tears to sting your eyes. / Coda to s2e20, "Rock Bottom."


**A/N: **I know, I know. . . Another fic written in 2nd P.O.V. In my defense, I _do_ have the first chapter of The Big Fic halfway done! So, sit tight. It'll be up soon! But, for now, enjoy this little writing exercise and let me know what you guys think. I'm trying to get a good grip on Sonny's voice. I'll probably add a sequel or two, as well.

* * *

An empty beer can skitters across the steel floor of the C-17. Trent is snoring like he's got a damn diesel engine lodged in his throat. Both sounds—the _only _sounds—set your teeth on edge. It's too quiet in the plane. _Too damn quiet._

Your name is Petty Officer Sonny Quinn. You won't admit it to anyone, not even to yourself, but you're scared. You're terrified, actually. Not of the hornet's nest that you and Bravo Team are about to HAHO jump into, and certainly not of death (you're a Special Warfare Operator, an enlisted sailor in the world's greatest Navy, a red-blooded American—you learned how to die long ago, and you learned to do it bravely), but of what has become of Bravo Team. . . And where Bravo Team seems to be headed.

Master Chief Jason Hayes, your steadfast boss: He's slowly but surely bowing under the weight of two very different worlds: grieving widow and father to two children, and DEVGRU/Tier One Team Leader. Jason hasn't broken yet, but you can tell that he's on the verge of a breakdown. You can see it in his short temper, in his sudden reckless decisions and obsessive nature, in the exhaustion that lingers in his eyes (an exhaustion that no amount of sleep can ever cure, an exhaustion that Hell Week during BUD/S couldn't hold a candle to), in the way that he viciously went after his best friend, Ray.

Ray Perry. Bravo Two. You don't recognize the man that Ray has become. He's lost in the darkness, grappling desperately for what little remains of his faith, searching for a hand to hold. . . You wish that it could be yours, but you're not a man of faith. You don't quite know how to console him.

Your name is Sonny Quinn, and you're a man of action. Your faith lies only in the men to the left of you and the men to the right of you. God never did you any favors, but Bravo? Well, they've done everything for you. You try to be there for Ray when you can, but more often than not these days, he pushes you away.

The C-17 is still quiet. The beer can is still skittering around. Trent is still snoring. Jason will no doubt wake him soon, let him know it's almost time to jump.

With a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, you glance down at the photo on your phone again. It's a blurry selfie of Lisa and Clay at Lisa's OCS graduation. They're pressed cheek to cheek, grinning ear to ear, and your heart aches with such overwhelming love and uncertainty and adoration and grief that it causes tears to sting your eyes. Lisa—_Officer Davis,_ now—looks radiant in her stark white uniform, and the warm cinnamon brown of her eyes glow with pride. You love her.

You've never thought that before. Certainly never said it. It jars you to the core. You love her. _You love her._ (If you live through this mission, God help you, you'll try to find the courage within yourself to tell her.)

Just to her right is Clay Spencer. You love him too. Not in the same way, of course. He's your brother, your family, just like Jason and Ray and Trent and Brock. You wouldn't say that Clay looks radiant too—no, he looks exhausted and world-weary, years of heartbreak evident in his too-young features—but he's smiling a smile that you know is genuine and he looks healthy and whole and _safe._

God, how long has it been since you've been able to say that? _Clay Spencer is safe. _

You can't wait for the end of this godforsaken deployment. With your two weeks of liberty, you're taking Lisa away for a weekend (give or take a few days), and then you're inviting Clay over for a cookout when the two of you return from. . . wherever. Right now, an afternoon with Lisa, Clay, bison burgers, and ice cold beer is all that you ache for.

A voice cuts through the eerie quiet. It's Lieutenant Commander Blackburn.

"Alright," He says. "Time to get jocked up."

It hurts to look away from the photo, but you do as your told. When duty calls, you answer. Always.

You hold that image of Lisa and Clay in your head, in your heart, in the pit of your damn soul, as you throw yourself out of the C-17 and plunge into icy darkness next to the fractured remains of Bravo Team.

Your name is Sonny Quinn, and you're scared to death that you're losing your brothers. _You're terrified._


End file.
